The House That I've Built
by Terry Lynch
Summary: rip


"Fuck the world." Homer Muttered to himself as he got home again from another long and tedious day at work. Things only got worse when he walked in the door to get harassed by his little demons that he called children.

"Dad! Dad! Ooooo!" They all kept trying to get his attention, somehow completely ignoring his deep, grief filled sighs.

"Ughhh, I need a beer," he thought to himself. Homer brushed his kids aside, keeping the same monotone, blank, unemotive expression that he had walked in with. He opened the fridge, an action that led to feelings quickly altering that expression; feelings of pure anger. There was no beer.

"Hey, Homie!" shouted a familiar, gruff yet loving voice. It was his wife Marge.

"Not now, Marge. I'm not feeling so good today." Homer felt bad, because even though he could feel the crushing pressure of the world deep into his heart, he knew that Marge cared and just wanted him to be happy. He was really happy to have someone that genuinely cared about him and appreciated his work, but her feelings and expectations towards him only further pushed down the weight of the world on his shoulders. His teeth slowly began to lose their grit, his fists started to unclench, and his angered expression turned into a frown. "I don't know if I can keep up this life any more. There is just too much to be done in such a short day, and time seems to go buy way quicker than it ever did before."

"Homie, you've gotta relax." Marge had a small tear forming in her eye. She knew that what was wrong was unfixable; her "Homie" was exhausted. For many years, he had put every last bit of his blood, sweat, and tears into his household. The fact was, Homer was just emotionally, physically, and mentally spent. Putting so much love and effort into his household was a rewarding feeling for many years, a feeling that kept Homer going through the darkest of days. Through good and bad, he knew that he had built his household and nobody could take that away from him. His family was his legacy; all that he would leave behind is the content and happiness that he produced, and he would fade into stardust blowing through the unending mass of the universe.

"Oh Marge, dont you see? Life is so beautiful... yet so insignificant. What is most beautiful in this world is what is most ironic, the ultimate comedy of the mortal earth is also its greatest tragedy."

Marge brought Homer upstairs extra early and tried to give him the night of his life. It was so early that the kids didn't even get any supper. No matter how hard she rid his yellow member, things just weren't hitting off. Homer finally had a premature finish, abruptly ending things about a minute and forty-seven seconds into the strange encounter. Huffing from the physical exertion of the task that was once beautiful, homer faded into a sleep in his wife's arms.

 ** _"You must end what you have created. Devour the produce and leave nothing behind."_**

Homer tossed and turned in his sleep, possessed by voices of doubt. He awoke, and got out of bed; Marge was fast asleep. He had a small tear in his eye. Knowing that what was wrong was unfixable, Homer left the room. As he walked downstairs, he noticed all of his children had fallen asleep at the couch watching the tellie. He stared at them for what seemed like hours. Part of him wanted to pull the plug and end it all; if he stopped them at where they were now, they would never have to lose their innocence. In their removal, Homer could move on to something knew. As he looked at them, he realized that laying a finger on them would be a crime. He went in the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper. He began writing.

 _"The beauty of life lies not within its insignificance or its brevity. The beauty of one's life is what you leave behind. While putting the work in can be hard sometimes, and you are not always happy with it, producing is the most important thing that one can ever do. The key to immortality is creation; through the work of the creator comes something greater; an entity of significance that outweighs any mortal life. Within a creation lies so much more than just the sum of it's parts. Each creation shares a memory; a feeling of euphoric nostalgia at the recollection of late nights. Of times spent with those you love and care for. Of laughs, of tears and of nights that would be a sin to forget about. The nights with those who make the broken and difficult world around you feel like the most beautiful creation in the history of eternity itself. These people will not always be with you, as it is painfully easy to lose one another in the ever flowing sands of time. So, my friends. My loves. Those who motivated me to never give up in life. I want you to remember, time is not to be measured by hours, minutes, or even seconds. Instead, measure time by every pulled heart string, every laugh, every tear, every tender embrace that could be the last. These memories are the silver linings to an otherwise taxing and grueling existence."_

Homer left the note by the TV remote so that the kids would see it first thing in the morning. As he prepared to drive away, he took one last look back.

"Goodbye, for now. My body has grown weary, but my soul and essence will live on through every one of you. I'll be back some day to revisit."

I promise.


End file.
